After He Was Gone: Chapter 1: Only the Begining
by Vitoria Morris
Summary: Picks up where Bram Stoker's Dracula left off. Right now this only concerns Quincey Morris, however newer chapters will undoubtly be made involving the other characters. This is a T because it involves vampires and waking up in a bed that isn't one's own.


I suppose the best way to start would be to say you are wrong. Like most people who stroll by, leisurely reading something about a debonair vampire, you suspect that he is Transylvanian. You also suspect that his bite has a supernatural manner of transforming his deceased victims into his own kind. Lastly, you suspect that an individual may only become the hideous atrocity we call a vampire if bitten (as aforementioned), and in being such they have limitations such as a vulnerability to daylight.

As I said- you would be wrong.

A vampire could be anyone, anywhere. Most are American and they pass as ordinary, yet eccentric citizens. Also, the fact of the matter is: the vampire's bite is by no means supernatural. The teeth excrete a "poison"- if you will- the housing and delivery of said poison is similar to that of a snake. Once inserted into the jugular vein, the poison makes its way to the heart. From there, it spreads to the whole body. Thus, changing the very structure of the being to which it has been injected. The being infected will "die" but that is merely a stage of infection. They will awake in a few days with new needs to meet- such as a change in feeding habits (in which, I trust, I have no need to elaborate on). These creatures are rarely seen in daylight for various reasons. One being that with a need to survive in such a new and seemingly grotesque manner, the fledgling vampire will: 1) acknowledge its need to survive, and 2) come to the realization that its current vessel would be recognized among its prey.

Moving on to the issue at hand. If you recall, Dracula was slain by a Mr. Quincey Morris, who was stabbed by a human minion of the creature in the process of doing so. This was by no means where the story stopped. The mourning heroes (Harker, Van Helsing, etc.) left his body in the snow, unable to cope with such loss, and unable to give his body any sort of burial or transportation. This was a fatal flaw for Quincey was stabbed with a dagger that was laced with the changing potion. Although his "death" was far too soon for it to take effect with all certainty, those who were living members of Dracula's clan were anticipating his revival for several days. Indeed, he did revive as expected.

"What happened?" he asked as he awoke, staring at the ceiling of an unfamiliar, ancient-looking room. He was lying in an unfamiliar bed.

"I sure hope that I want to remember," he whispered with a nervous chuckle. Maybe he was drinking. _Wait!_ Slowly remembering the fight he and the others were a part of, he searched for the wound the gypsy had inflicted upon him. He was too weak to jump in surprise and alarm. Not only was he wearing different clothes, but also, the wound was gone.

_Maybe it all was a dream_, he thought to himself. No, it could not have been. He was certain. What had happed over the past few weeks was real, and now, he was wearing someone else's clothes and sleeping in someone else's bed. Once again, he pondered the possibilities of this, hoping his chastity was still intact.

He struggled to sit up. He was weak. The room was so blank. There was a bed with white linen sheets and the walls were stone. Nothing more. His mind was still racing and he was slowly loosing energy. He fell asleep again, in a nightmarish confusion.

"They just let you here!"

Quincey blinked to find a beautiful young woman angrily pacing about the room. She was elegantly clad in an off-violet dress. Her brown hair was messily tucked into a bun and her skin was quite pale. She kept muttering things to herself and looking at him.

He stared at her with a genuinely puzzled expression for a good amount time. It seemed so improper and ungentlemanly of him to be lying down when addressing a lady. Therefore, he mustered his strength and utilized it to sit up as he had before. She continued to pace, ignoring him.

"Little girl," he wanted her to explain things at least, "what am I doing here? Who are you? What happened to me?" She did not know how to respond. She gathered her thoughts for a moment and nodded with resolution.

She spoke slowly and eloquently, "My name is Elizabeth, I have lived in Romania all my life, but my family is English- urm, you are still in Romania, I'm afraid. You are in Craeschovia Castle. You were wounded in a battle with that…tyrant of a man-"

"Dracula?" Quincey interjected.

"Yes," the Elizabeth nodded, "We found you on the ground amidst his deceased servants and _his_ body, of course."

"We?"

"My family. There's a good deal of us living in this castle. Anyway, we were on an outing when we came upon you. I-I found you and persuaded everyone to allow you to stay here and regain your health," she began to stare at the wall.

After a long moment of silence Quincey could no longer bear wondering about his current position, "Whose clothes are these? Where are mine?" he blurted out. He closed his eyes and gathered composure until he could finally ask, "And most importantly, have I done anything I would regret?"

Elizabeth blushed, "Why, no sir. These clothes are new; we purchased them for you because the ones you had were covered in blood- highly unsuitable. You were unconscious for a very long period of time, so I put you here. This is one of our many guest rooms. You may rest her as long as you like," she suddenly remembered that she had forgotten his medicine.

"I will be right back! I am terribly sorry, I forgot your tonic!" she quickly rushed out the door, only to later return with a glass full of tonic.

"Thank you," Quincey said as he took the glass. He drank all of it and felt far stronger.

"My, this is wonderful, what is it?" he asked, staring into the glass with enthusiastic curiosity. Before she even opened her mouth to respond his face was lit with concern.

"Who changed my clothes?" he asked looking up at Elizabeth anxiously.

"Questions, questions Mr. Morris!" she playfully remarked as she rose to leave the room. He watched her leave. She closed the door and slumped against it. Finally, she could drop that horrible act. She was quite fond of him and remembered what it was like for her to wake up in a strange place. To wake up far too ignorant, yet... blissfully so. How could she tell him that he was not human any longer _and_ that she had given him no tonic, but fresh blood?


End file.
